


Verse and Melody

by lolcat202



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Dimples Queen, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-12
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-05-01 06:25:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5195546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lolcat202/pseuds/lolcat202
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Regina sings to keep her mind from her son during the missing year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Verse and Melody

From a Tumblr prompt: Hello and congratulations on your 300 followers :D I'm glad to be lucky 300! I was going to ask for a continuation of the piercing fic ;) but since you said "no more piercings", here's my prompt instead: You know in musicals, where "couples" start singing duets when they're not even in the same room? What if with soul mates, no matter where you are, or what you're doing, you start “singing” the same song your soulmate is. During the Missing Year, Regina stumbles upon Roland or one of the Merry Men, singing something “modern” (Regina’s favourite song - can be something silly like “Ice Ice Baby”) and she wonders how they know that song. You can use the prompt anyway you like, or change things up, anywhere your muse takes you :) Thank you and congratulations once again :) 

As tempting as Ice Ice Baby is, I just can’t see Regina singing that. Though I do. Frequently. 

Everyone thought that Snow inherited her penchant for singing to woodland creatures from her mother, but it was Regina who sang to herself, who inspired Snow to learn the ballads of yore and sing when she was working on her sewing, or her painting, or any of the other tasks befitting a princess. 

She still sings to herself in hushed tones - perhaps not in Snow’s cheery soprano, and definitely not ballads of princesses in towers. No, after nearly 30 years in Maine, she sings power ballads from the 80s, the occasional grunge song from the 90s, doo-wop from the 50s that she found on the radio while cleaning the house, and when she’s feeling particularly low, she sings Here Comes the Sun. She used to sing it to Henry when he cried through the night as he was teething. She sang it to him when he broke his arm at six years old and was up all night whining about the itching under his cast. She’d sing it to him, deliberately off-key, on the mornings when he refused to get out of bed to go to school. She sang it to herself softly, a gentle lullaby, when Henry wouldn’t speak to her. A reminder that dark days would pass, a ray of hope, a gentle melody that soothed her soul and eased her guilty conscience.

She hums it these days as she paces through the castle, dark hallways lit with torches, mirrors lining the halls. Mirrors that are finally silent, that reflect only the emptiness in her eyes. She sings it under her breath as she hides in the kitchen, pounding a pie crust into submission and taking out her frustrations with a sharp knife and a basket of apples. She sings it in the courtyard, the same courtyard that held her hostage as a young bride and cages her in even now. A different sort of prison, a different punishment, but once again, she’s condemned to live without the person she loves most. So she sings, trying to keep her mind occupied with the lyrics rather than with the memories of the boy she misses so much.

“It’s been a long, cold, lonely winter,” she croons as she plucks an apple from the tree. 

“It’s…years since it’s been here,” comes a small voice from behind her, and she whips around in surprise. The thief’s son, little Roland, is peeking around the flower bed looking at her. He smiles shyly at her, and she beckons him over to her. She sits on the stone wall surrounding the tree, and he scrambles up next to her. He studies her expectantly, and she continues the song for him.

“Here comes the sun,” she sings, and he echoes the lyrics in his little boy voice. “Here comes the sun, and I say-”

“it’s all riiiight,” Roland belts out. She can’t help but laugh at his enthusiasm, and he smiles up at her, a ray of sunshine peeking through the dark clouds surrounding her. 

“Very good,” she says as she taps him on the nose. “But, my little minstrel, how on earth did you learn that song?”

“My papa sings it,” he says. “He sings it so much that I couldn’t help but learn it. He says it’s his favorite.”

How on earth could that be? The Merry Men didn’t come over in the first curse - Robin would have had no way to know the Beatles. There’s no way-

“He says a princess sang it to him,” Roland continues, and Regina’s jaw drops. “He says she sings it all over the castle, and it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard. So he sings it to me.”

Well, that’s unexpected. Perhaps she’s not the only one who developed an appreciation for the music of the land without magic, though. “Was it Princess Snow?” she asks.

Roland shakes his head. “No, not that princess. She only sings to birds.” Roland wrinkles his nose at that, and Regina can’t help but laugh. “He says this princess is a mystery, and if he’s lucky, he’ll get to unravel it.”

Her breath catches in her throat. “Do you know what that means, Roland?”

He shakes his head, his mop of curls flying every which way. “Nope. I think he’s being silly. But I like the song.”

She pulls Roland a little closer. “Me too, Roland,” she says softly as he hums to himself. “Me too.”


End file.
